


Plant A Kiss On Me

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Lars is here by mention only (phone convos), M/M, Plant puns, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: When Hermann first starts working at his new job, he certainly doesn’t give much thought to the fashionable florist down the street. While the florist is attractive (Hermann is only human, after all), and perhaps a little strange from the brief moments he happens to catch them talking (their voice is unique - scratchy and a bit annoying, but surprisingly endearing) or working as he passes by, Hermann is focused on his own work.Slowly, unexpectedly, this florist starts to become a part of Hermann's life. For someone who has never been too concerned with potential relationships - Hermann is quite happy with where and how his life is right now, thank you - he finds himself wanting to see where this goes. Could this be the beginning of a friendship? Or something more?In which Hermann works at a robotics company, Newt runs a flower shop, and no matter the universe they are destined to meet one way or another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feriowind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feriowind/gifts).



> HUGE thanks to Actually_Crowley for happily agreeing to beta this story for me! Please be sure to check our their works, they're awesome.
> 
> Tags and characters to be updated as the story progresses.

When Hermann first starts working at his new job, he certainly doesn’t give much thought to the fashionable florist down the street. While the florist is attractive (Hermann is only human, after all), and perhaps a little strange from the brief moments he happens to catch them talking (their voice is unique - scratchy and a bit annoying, but surprisingly endearing) or working as he passes by, Hermann is focused on his own work. Plus, talking to strangers has never been something he’s particularly fond of doing.  

He prefers to keep to himself as much as necessary, especially when he’s not in his comfort zone. The way his life is now? Hermann Gottlieb left his comfort zone far behind. It’s an adjustment to be sure, and while it’s nerve wracking and stressful, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Hermann doesn’t regret the choices he’s made that’s completely changed his life in the past few months: leaving his stagnant career in academia behind, packing up his minimal belongings, and catching a plane to America to put his engineering degree to more of a hands on use.

His big sister Karla, who has always been Hermann’s loudest (and sometimes only) supporter, is thrilled with this change. She was just as thrilled when Hermann had gone to London to teach as well. Karla is his courage when Hermann had none, and had it not been for her, he would likely still be back in Germany, stuck on a path that was fit for his father but NOT for him. He promises that she will be his first house guest once he finally has the appropriate space to offer such a thing.

This life change is a jarring realization that fully hits Hermann the moment he steps off the plane in America, the reality of it all colliding with his brain like a ton of bricks, and in a moment of panic he almost turns around and buys a ticket right back across the sea. Impulsiveness has never been a characteristic of his; that sort of thing has always been more Karla’s or their little brother Bastien’s. Yet, here he is, in a country he’s never visited to take a job at a company he’s never heard of, with no real backup plan apart from Go Back Home. He has nowhere to live, he only knows one other person in the whole damned country, and yet … he’s done it anyway.

Hermann ends up sleeping on Tendo Choi’s pull out sofa bed for a month until he finds his own apartment. It’s only fair, he reasons, since Tendo is the entire reason for this career change to begin with. His brief, former colleague turned friend even offers without being prompted, and while Hermann does worry that he’s a bit of an inconvenience with Tendo’s wife Alison being  _ incredibly _ pregnant, he’s grateful for the lodgings and their kindness nonetheless.

His apartment is small, but Hermann has never needed much space. In fact, smaller lodgings have always been easier for him to get around as needed when he’s having bad pain days. It is also only a short walk away from his new job, which had been one of the important things he kept in mind while hunting. Being able to walk to and from work (weather and pain permitting) is beneficial to him for multiple reasons; a big one being Hermann’s lack of vehicle and American driver’s license, with another being that it was going to be a good daily exercise routine. This is certainly not a permanent replacement for his physical therapy regimen, but until Hermann would be able to establish a new health care physician, it is his best and quickest option to ensure he stays as active as he is able.

He’s been down that road before, putting aside exercise when he’d first moved to London. Hermann doesn’t remember that time fondly - getting back into his necessary routine had been difficult - and he’s not eager to make the same mistake.

Hermann is proud of the work he has started to do. The robotics company is owned by a quiet, intelligent man named Stacker Pentecost, who opened it initially as a way to help disabled veterans have some semblance of normal life. It has expanded since then, and while it is still a primary focus of what they do, it is no longer the only focus. Tendo pulls Hermann over to be a programmer, and to assist Pentecost’s adopted daughter Mako Mori, in establishing a dedicated internship program with the nearby technical college. Tendo, having worked with Hermann for two semesters a few years ago in London (he’d been a temporary specialized engineering professor, Hermann still doesn’t know the full story behind it all), supposedly lobbied for him intensely before ever even calling him about the position.

Now, he gets to change and improve lives in different ways than before. Hermann gets to code again, an intense passion that never really found a place alongside his job as a university professor, while still continuing to teach and influence young minds. It’s the best combination of both his passions in life, and he knows he’ll never regret the move.

His life is simple, and quiet. Hermann fills his time with work, and spends his evenings at home.  Tendo often says he worries that Hermann is too lonely, but Hermann doesn’t see the concern in it. There’s nothing wrong with being alone. Growing up in a house with five other human beings makes one appreciate being alone. He gets to focus on work as much as he feels the position deserves, without being hindered or clouded by outside influences (apart from the occasional familial drama still seeping into his life from across the Atlantic Ocean). Hermann is quite content where things are at.

That is … until he starts taking notice of the florist he seems to pass by almost every day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s very little things at first. Hermann is, after all, not a prying person. He values his privacy more than almost anything and expects the same common courtesy from others (even if he is often disappointed). He hates it when people stare at him as he walks by, quizzically eyeing his cane and limp on Bad Days. He finds it rude and invasive, even when they say nothing, and so he rarely lets his own gaze linger on others to avoid projecting the same rudeness.

Their laughter one morning is what draws his attention, however. It’s a quiet morning; it’s Saturday and while there are stores open at this hour, the town tends to stir a few hours later on weekends. Hermann is on his way into work for a few hours to get some calculations done that he was unable to get to during the week, scrolling through the morning news idly on his phone as he walks.

The sound is abrupt and loud, echoing along the quiet street, and it startles Hermann slightly. It’s a raspy, almost wheezy sound that lifts in pitch before fading out. It’s a unique and bright sound that draws Hermann’s attention, causing him to pause on the sidewalk and glance across the street in his attempt to locate the source. He notices the owner of the laugh almost immediately, catching sight of an individual with messy black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and a bright smile. They are dressed in tight jeans and a long, loose tank top with the phrase  _ ‘Thistle be a good day.’ _ in big block letters across the chest. Underneath the words is an assortment of spiked purple flowers. Their hands are resting on their hips as they laugh and talk with someone else (whose back is facing the street), and Hermann notices the colorful array of tattoos spreading along the entirety of both arms. He blinks, lips parted in quiet surprise.

They are …  _ stunningly _ attractive.

Hermann catches himself staring before either of them do and hastily tears his gaze away, heart pounding in embarrassment and panic at the risk of being noticed. He licks his bottom lip and clears his throat, gaze locked on his phone as he starts walking again. He’s practically burning a hole in his screen by the time he gets to the office, reading the same sentence in a news article over and over the entire rest of his journey. 

He’s fairly certain he hadn’t been caught, but Hermann can’t shake the nervousness fluttering in his chest. The last thing he wants is for some random, attractive stranger to catch him obviously gawking. He was caught off guard, that’s all.  No sense in dwelling on it, and this would be the end of the whole thing. 

As Hermann settles in at his desk for the morning, he makes a cup of tea and stares off as he waits for it to be ready, allowing himself a few moments to enjoy the quiet around him. Ms Mori has insisted more than once for Hermann not to trouble himself with working on the weekends, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a nice contrast to the usual bustle of the week day, and it’s at least something productive to do with his time.

Perhaps when he’s done with his coding he’ll stop by the farmer’s market on the way home to get something fresh for lunch. Hermann taps his fingers against the side of his hot mug as he leans back in his chair, his mind continuing to wander for a bit longer than he prefers. He thinks about the laughing individual again. Hermann wonders what sort of tattoos they had decided to cover their body with. In his distraction and panic, he hadn’t thought to look. Why would he, though? Just because someone gets art permanently on their skin doesn’t mean they’re wanting to invite looks and analyzing and questions. It’s certainly the last thing he would want concerning his own tattoos (though, he doesn’t have anything remotely close to a full sleeve like that).

Hermann realizes with a huff that he’s let too much time pass as he takes a sip of his tea to find it slightly chilled. He blinks, glancing down at the remaining liquid in surprise and offense. Surely he had not been sitting here long enough for the tea to go cold without doing …  _ anything _ .

Setting the mug down, Hermann rubs roughly at his face and sits up straighter, snapping himself out of his daze. Clearing his throat, he finishes booting up his computer and loading their software; he puts his glasses on, rolls his shoulders, and gets to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next time he sees the florist is a few days later. Hermann, out of idle curiosity, glances over during his morning walk and sees the same individual pacing outside what he notices for certain is a flower shop of some kind. They are popping in and out of the shop, carrying different sized pots and setting up what seems to be an elaborate floral display outside one of the windows. The assortment of plants are as varied and colorful as the tattoos on their arms (as Hermann is pretty sure he can make out flowers on their skin as well).

Today they are clad in a short-sleeved floral pattern button up that is so loud it could practically be screaming at passersby. There are so many bright reds and yellows and greens on it that it hurts Hermann’s eyes all the way across the street. The shirt is unbuttoned completely, slipping down one of their shoulders a bit and showing off the striped tank top underneath, which is rather plain in comparison. They have on neon pink rubber gloves that clash terribly with their button up, and as they are leaning over to set down a large pot, Hermann gets a very flattering view of their backside. It’s difficult not to, with how tight the faded jeans they’re wearing are, and Hermann doesn’t  _ mean _ to look, but … well … he does.

It’s a very in-your-face sort of fashion style that is sure to draw anyone’s attention in one way or another. Everything about the florist’s appearance is the exact opposite of what Hermann has ever done or worn himself. Even during his teenage cyberpunk phase, Hermann wore mostly muted colors and less ridiculous styles than some of his peers. No matter how peculiar or niche his interests ran, Hermann has never desired to draw attention to himself. This florist seems to be doing everything they can apart from jumping up and down and yelling “Hey hey hey look at me” to draw as much attention as possible.

It’s bizarre and fascinating. It’s borderline horrific, in Hermann’s opinion. However, he can’t stop himself from feeling immensely intrigued.

It starts to become a bit of a game after this; Hermann almost considers it a part of his morning ritual. Wake up, shower, brush his teeth, stop for his morning tea, see what the florist is wearing, go to work. They’re not outside every morning, having sometimes already opened the shop for the day, but half the time if Hermann doesn’t see the florist that morning, he’ll catch sight of them on the way home. He keeps a running mental list of the variety of things he sees the florist wear. Is it an odd thing to do? Perhaps. At times Hermann finds himself growing concerned that it could be considered creepy behavior, but really, it’s not like he intends to use the knowledge for anything untoward or obsessive, so what’s the harm? He’s a mathematician, he collects data. This is hardly any different.

Hermann imagines that the florist has a ridiculous wardrobe at home. The sheer variety of outfits he sees them wear is mind blowing and not at all consistent. Hermann prides himself on recognizing patterns in data, behavior, science … Patterns are everywhere. Anything can become predictable with enough data. The florist, he is coming to realize, is difficult to predict.  Hermann finds this strangely thrilling. Just when Hermann think he’s going to see them in something more obnoxious and outlandish than the previous day’s outfit, the florist has on standard cargo shorts, black converse, and a plain t-shirt. When he expects to see them in what seems to be their favored skinny jeans, the florist will be wearing a flowing skirt with a tropical leafy pattern on it.

There are a few constants, however, that Hermann starts to notice. When they’re not wearing gloves, the florist has an assortment of bracelets or wrappings of some kind decorating one of their wrists. Hermann wonders if they wear them all the time, and the gloves just temporarily conceal them, or if they are removed and stored somewhere when needed. He also notices that, no matter how varied and eclectic the clothing is, apart from those insane skinny jeans, the florist is always wearing clothing that hangs a bit loose and comfortable on their frame. 

This is why, as Hermann is walking to work and catches sight of the florist walking outside wearing form-fitting cuffed jeans and a crop top with the Hard Rock Cafe logo across the chest, comes to an immediate stuttering halt and almost trips over his cane. He can see more tattoos covering the revealed expanse of their stomach and the way the jeans are wrapping snugly around their soft middle. Hermann swallows. It’s wrong of him to be staring like this, but it’s such a different style of clothing compared to everything else he has seen the florist wear so far.

He’s feeling slightly ashamed of himself, but that thought comes to a halt the second the florist’s eyes meet his. Hermann is pretty sure his heart stops. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He’s been caught. He’s …

“Hey, Newt!” a voice echoes to their left, and the florist blinks, almost seems to smile, and is then turning towards the voice.

“Hey there!” the florist shouts back with that strange, slightly high-pitched and raspy voice of theirs, bouncing up on their toes and raising one of their arms in a wave. “I’ve got your arrangement ready, why don’t you come take a look?”

Hermann watches as a young woman approaches, smiling eagerly. The florist - Newt, apparently - flashes a bright grin and gestures the woman inside the shop. Before following her in, the florist glances over their shoulder, but Hermann is already scurrying off in a hurry, staring at his feet the rest of the way to the office.

Newt … Newt. What a strange name. Was that their real name? Or a nickname, perhaps? Hermann is a little pleased he has something else to go off of now and doesn’t have to think of them as just The Florist any longer. However, Hermann finds that he’s now starting to think of them even more than before.

As lunchtime approaches, Hermann is sitting at his desk, staring at nothing in particular as he slowly peels an orange. Should he have said something? They looked at one another. It seems like it would have been the courteous thing to do, give a small wave and say Good Morning. Instead, Newt catches him staring, and Hermann is like a deer in headlights. He feels foolish as he sits there, burning a hole in his desk as he stares.

He can always greet Newt on his way home. He can take that side of the street, say hello, ask Newt how their day was.  _ My name is Her- _

“-mann?  Helloooooo, earth to Gottlieb.”

Hermann blinks, a familiar voice close by jolting him out of his trance. He blinks, jumping and looking up to see Tendo leaning over his desk, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Hey look, you ARE alive,” Tendo grins. Hermann sighs and bats the man’s hand away in annoyance. Tendo just laughs. “Wow, where  _ were _ you just now?”

“Nowhere,” he sighs, glancing down at his orange and giving it his full attention again.

“Lies and falsehoods,” Tendo says, straightening and crossing his arms.

For a brief moment, Hermann entertains the idea telling Tendo exactly where his mind was. The man before him has a strange talent of knowing almost anybody. Does he know Newt? If he does, does it really matter? Hermann knows that Tendo will take this opportunity to try and hook him up with someone; he is always telling Hermann that he needs to get out more, try this, do that, have a bit of adventure. Hermann knows it comes from a place of caring, Tendo is a wonderful friend, but it drives him a bit crazy.

So no, Hermann doesn’t think it’s worth the can of worms it could open just to gain a bit more information about Newt. The cons outweigh the pros, and Hermann has half a mind to start ignoring Tendo again until he goes away. That hardly ever works, though, so Hermann just glances up and gives Tendo an exhausted look.

“Family drama, okay?” he partially lies. Things are actually pretty quiet from his native country of Germany right now, which is a blessing, but Hermann feels like he’s almost always dealing with his disapproving father or rebellious younger brother one way or another.

“Ah man, I’m sorry brother,” Tendo shakes his head, reaching over to pat Hermann on the shoulder. “You got plans tonight?  Wait, why am I asking, of course you don’t.”

Hermann scoffs in mock offense, and Tendo just gives him a patient look. Of course Hermann doesn’t have plans, and of course Tendo knows that, but he doesn’t have to tease like that. It’s good-natured, it always is, but Hermann can still get irritated about it.

“Let’s grab drinks, yeah?” Tendo proposes, squeezing Hermann’s shoulder before finally letting go. “See if Mako wants to come.”

“I am quite fine, I don’t need-”

“You need a drink, Hermann my man, and it’s been how long since we went out to just hang?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

“Too long, that’s right. So, drinks. Don’t try to escape early, I know where you live.”

God help him, Tendo DOES know where he lives. Hermann sighs and nods, which is enough to appease Tendo for the time, and the man walks off. Hermann frowns at his orange, as if the fruit is to blame for what has transpired. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy getting drinks with Tendo and Mako, he appreciates both of them tremendously, but … he just wants to go home.

_ My name is Hermann. You have a lovely shop here, do you enjoy tending to flowers? What kind of arrangements do you like to set up best? I confess, I don’t know much about flowers, though I did briefly have a succulent. It was one of the rose-shaped ones, and it was in a silly little frog planter. A housewarming gift from my big sister ... _

He doesn’t go by the flower shop after work. He lets Tendo and Mako drag him to the nearby sports bar they like to frequent, and he sits there nursing his pilsner distractedly. He goes right home after, his momentary bravery long gone, even if the shop was still open (which it’s not).

Maybe tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Tomorrow comes, and the next day, and the next, with no change. Hermann walks to work, he sees Newt, and says nothing. Some days he convinces himself over his morning tea that he’ll walk on the other side of the street. Perhaps if he makes himself walk directly by the flower shop, it’ll be easier to say hello.

As he steps outside to face the day, however, his courage always fades and he continues with his regular routine.  

It’s infuriating and foolish, this desire Hermann finds himself having to speak to the florist. He can’t figure out what it is about them that draws his attention as much as it does. He wants to talk to Karla about it but the whole situation seems too embarrassing to bring up, even to her. That just adds an extra layer of absurdity to it all. Karla was the person Hermann first came out to when they were teenagers, she is his big sister and best friend, and he’s never had to keep anything from her ever. Yet he still can’t tell her about Newt. Not that there’s actually anything to  _ tell _ , but Hermann finds himself mute at the thought of bringing it up.  

So the days continue like this. Hermann finds himself eagerly awaiting the glimpse he may catch of the florist as he commutes to work; he imagines what sort of conversation they might have if he would ever stop and speak up, but he never does and moves on. Even as conflicted as he feels about wanting to say hello, Hermann still enjoys the little aspects of what has become his daily routine.  

It’s a Thursday when the dynamic finally shifts. Hermann’s not in the best mood that morning, being forced to entertain a phone call from his father during his morning tea. As usual, Lars tries to convince him to come back home, to rethink the ridiculous decisions he has made that brought him to America. It’s the same song and dance he’s done for years, still so certain after all this time that Hermann’s proper place is back in Germany and working with him.  _ For him _ . Hermann can’t figure out how often he has to refuse Lars before he might finally take the hint. The world of politics is the absolute last place Hermann wants to find himself in, and no amount of convincing is ever going to change that. So, as they often do, the phone call devolves into a bitter argument, with Lars scoffing and belittling the work that Hermann is so incredibly proud of and Hermann switching to speaking in English just to piss him off even more. It would hurt Hermann’s feelings much more than it does if it wasn’t so predictable at this point.  

So, while he does still hold that familiar anticipation in his chest as he walks to work, Hermann can’t keep the scowl off his face either. Newt is outside of the shop again this morning, watering their current weekly display, free hand holding what looks to be a coffee mug. Hermann allows himself to slow his pace, his mouth twitching up into the beginnings of a soft smile at the baggy, faded pair of overalls they’re wearing. It’s a good look, an endearing one even. One of the shoulder clasps is undone, causing that half to sag forward, showing more of the striped t-shirt they are wearing underneath it. Hermann allows himself that moment to admire the way they are bobbing their head and bouncing as they move back and forth across the storefront, pausing to set their mug down and push their dark hair back. Then, Newt is glancing around casually, and before Hermann has a chance to react, their eyes are meeting like they had once before.  

“Good morning!” they call out, raising their hand in a casual, friendly wave, smiling wide. Hermann freezes, eyes widening as he glances around and notices there is no one else in the nearby vicinity.

The florist is speaking to  **_him_ ** .

Their tone is so bright and cheerful, perfectly matching their smile, and Hermann’s heart is pounding. He opens his mouth to respond on instinct, because it’s only the proper thing to do when someone addresses you, but in his surprise, no sound comes out. He needs to respond, to ignore the florist would be incredibly rude. Even just a simple  _ Good Morning _ back. His heart rate increases with each passing second that Hermann can’t force himself to speak. He’s standing there gawking and it’s so embarrassing, and he just barely manages a nod of his head in greeting before he’s stumbling off without any other response.

Hermann is not proud of that moment. He’s so mortified about his behavior that the tea he makes halfway through the morning grows cold, sitting untouched on his desk as he stares distractedly at his current project. He’s not a social person, sure, but he can manage a simple greeting like that most of the time.

As the days goes on, Hermann is stuck thinking about how much he’s let his mind take off with this idea of the florist. It’s getting out of control, and he’s feeling rather conflicted about it all. As he gathers up his things to leave for the day, he sends a quick message to his sister, hoping that tonight will be one of her late evenings. The time difference between here and home is not kind, but there are times where Karla is up to the oddest hours of the night due to her nursing profession, and if Hermann is lucky, she will be tonight.

_ If you are awake, could we push up our planned video call to tonight?  -H _

The response chimes back in as he’s halfway home.   _ Sure am.  Just getting off having to work a week of nights so I don’t have what most of you like to call a normal sleep schedule again just yet. ;) Everything okay? _

_ Yes. I’ll call you after dinner.  -H _

 

* * *

“So first of all, when are you going to stop signing your texts, you doofus,” is the first thing out of Karla’s mouth when their video call connects. Hermann, who has settled into the chair at his desk with a thin blanket draped around his shoulders, glasses on, and tea next to his laptop, arches an unamused eyebrow.

“Hello to you too, meine schwester,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes.

It’s dark where Karla is, and her light brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, strands hanging down to frame her face. She looks to be that strange mixture of exhausted and awake as she gazes at the camera, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. She laughs, tilting her head slightly.

“Oh come on, you know I have to tease you,” she grins. “As if I don’t know who’s texting me.”

“Yes, well-” Hermann starts, but something in his voice just makes Karla laugh again.

“I’m kidding!” she interrupts, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands together around one knee. Hermann lets himself smile a little bit. He misses her. “So what’s up?  You  _ never _ reschedule our planned chats without a reason.”

Hermann feels himself starting to freeze up again. However, even if he wanted to, there isn’t an easy way he can backpedal out of this. It’s true, and Karla knows it; he sticks to his schedule as much as he can. For him to be the one to change it up last minute like he has today isn’t something that happens on a whim. Anything else he could say would be a lie and Karla would know it.

He sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders and reaching for his tea. He curls his fingers around the mug securely and delays the inevitable as he takes a sip. Karla is silent as he does, patient and familiar with his stalling methods. Finally, with a sniff, he sets the mug down again and frowns.

“There’s this … person,” he starts, and he watches as Karla’s eyes widen and light up in excitement. Hermann wants to groan and hide his face, but he soldiers on. “Oh don’t look at me like that. It’s not even remotely what you’re hoping. And that’s sort of the problem?”

So he explains. He tells Karla about Newt, about his confusing fascination with this florist. He tells her about the unique variety of clothing they wear, the energy they give off, the things Hermann is curious about. He tells her about his annoying urge to introduce himself, and his horrific failing to actually speak to them when he finally had the chance. She is respectful and thoughtful, not interrupting Hermann until he pauses long enough that she picks up on the signal that he’s done.

“Well,” she starts slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “Firstly, it’s bizarre to hear you talk about anyone like this, that’s for sure. I can’t remember the last time you did. Second of all, little brother, and remember that I love you. But you need to chill out before you start to get a bit creepy.”

Hermann sputters, almost choking on his tea as he’d picked the mug up to drink again while Karla is talking. He looks at her on his computer screen with a horrified expression on his face, and she just laughs again.

“Oh don’t panic,” Karla says, waving a hand in front of her face while Hermann coughs. “I’m just  _ saying _ . You’re not quite to that point or anything but if you keep this up you will be. And that’s not you, okay? You’re not that person, Hermann. You just need to reign it in. You’re letting yourself think about this florist - Newt, you said? - like a wonderfully complicated maths problem, and not an interesting person that you might find kind of attractive.”

Hermann swallows, listening intently. He can feel himself blushing as the embarrassment and shame starts to seep in. Karla’s right, and he can’t even begin to deny it. He never intended to think like that, or to focus on Newt in such a way, but … Well, it seems as though it was the risk he was starting to run.  

“I hadn’t realized,” he admits, rubbing the back of his head and sighing. “That’s uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Karla smiles in attempts to reassure him. Hermann presses his thin lips together in a grimace. “Seriously!  It happens, you’re human. What matters is that you re-adjust your thinking and stop focusing so much on what you want to say but are too chicken to say.”

“Hey!” Hermann huffs, regardless of the fact that she’s right.  

“You need to think about the fact that he's a florist and running a shop,” Karla continues. “He? Sorry, they?"

"I'm not entirely sure, actually," Hermann admits. "But they ... they remind me of Bastien. I don't want to assume one way or the other, you know?"

"Totally," Karla smiles softly, resting her chin in her hand. "I get it, absolutely. So, anyway, what was I- That's right! You’re seeing their Retail Face, as I like to call it. Not to say that this Newt isn’t as charming and awesome as they seem to be, but you don’t know that. Just. Keep your mind in perspective, yeah? Think about the lack of interaction for what it is, and you’ll be able to get over whatever nervousness you’re feeling and maybe even say hi finally.”

“I feel ridiculous,” Hermann groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t,” Karla laughs again, leaning forward and again. “Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally all but stalked a barista that worked in the coffee shop inside the hospital?”

“No?!” he shouted, eyes widening almost comically.

“Okay, well buckle in then, Hermie, because you’re about to hear a  _ horrifically _ embarrassing story that I’m sure you can blackmail me with later in life.”

 

* * *

In hindsight, Hermann thinks about the fact that while he’s been so nervous and guilty about practically ignoring Newt’s greeting, they didn’t look at all offended during the one-sided exchange. That thought, mixed with Karla’s advice, helps to calm Hermann down and stop over analyzing things quite so much. He continues with his regular commute to work, glancing over at the flower shop as he passes it with the regular anticipation he felt, but half the anxiousness.  

Newt starts to greet him regularly when they see one another now. Hermann, still too embarrassed to say anything back, does start to smile and wave back. It’s a simple gesture, but the first time he does it, Newt’s smile widens even more. It’s … nice. Again and again, every time Hermann is able to walk to work and Newt is outside tending to plants or setting up shop for the day, they have their small exchange. Hermann starts looking forward to that even more than what interesting outfit Newt might be wearing that day.

He can’t help but wonder why Newt is so consistent with greeting him. Many people walk by day to day, and he doesn’t see the florist greeting them all in such a way, unless they approach the shop specifically. Hermann knows why he continues his part of the exchange every time. He can admit to himself now that yeah, he has a bit of a crush on this stranger. He still feels silly about it, but it doesn’t rattle and distract him the way it used to. It’s just  _ nice _ .

After a few Bad Days where Hermann is unable walk to work like normal, he finally forces himself to get back to his regular routine. He’s still aching, and his limp is a bit more obvious than normal, but he doesn’t let it deter him. He’s certainly not foolish and going to overwork himself, but Hermann knows he needs to try and stretch the injured limb again and, ideally, get back to his regular routine. Greeting included.

He gives himself more time than usual to get to work, which is good, because Hermann is moving a bit slower than normal. As he grips his cane tightly and stands a bit straighter as he walks, passing the flower shop, he notices that the lights are off and there is no display outside. Huh. The shop is closed?

Hermann peers at the small  **CLOSED** sign he sees hanging on the front door. He stops and leans heavily on his cane, giving his leg a brief rest as he stares at the storefront with his brow furrowed. It’s not as though Hermann assumes Newt never takes days off. All shops and businesses have days off. He’s just never seen the shop closed on a Wednesday before. It surprises him, and he hesitates to admit that it’s a bit disappointing as well. However, there’s no use in dwelling on it, so taking in a slow breath, Hermann pushes through his aches and continues on to work. He tries not to think about the fact that he’s a bit grumpier than usual. He is hurting a little, after all, and the morning’s walk has him more tired than usual. Hermann attributes his mood to that before he admits what the cause actually could be. After all, that’s a much more logical reason than what he fears is really behind it. He’s started to put his thoughts into perspective, after all. He has to. Still, though, it’s difficult to deny that the flower shop being closed has thrown Hermann a little off kilter.

The shop remains closed for the rest of the week. Thursday irritates him further but by Friday Hermann’s in the worst mood. He’s feeling sour and down, and legitimately concerned now. A day closed during the week is one thing, but three days in a row with no indication as to why is a whole other matter. Has something happened to Newt? Is there an issue with the shop itself? The whole array of possibilities is endless and Hermann’s imagination runs away with itself as the day progresses. He’s getting too worked up over it, he knows. There must be a logical explanation for the florist’s absence. One that is none of his business; they don’t even know one another.  

However, all weekend it remains in his thoughts. He gets nothing done. Hermann tries watching a tv show that Karla has been pestering him to try (“How have you not watched The Good Place yet, little brother? You  _ live _ in America, you need to get in touch with current shows over there.  It’s so funny and so smart, you’d love it.”), but he spends most of the first two episodes staring off distractedly and missing the entire setup of the show. He tries rereading his favorite Alan Turing publication, a book he knows front to back, but catches himself reading the same paragraph multiple times. He’s so familiar with the book but this afternoon he couldn’t say what part he’s just read. He starts to revisit one of his earlier robotics projects and see what ways he can tweak and improve the programming, and even  _ that _ causes Hermann to hit a wall. He sits at his kitchen counter, frowning as he stares into a fresh cup of tea that was made out of frustration. Hermann has always been able to turn to numbers when everything else was failing him in one way or another; maths is his comfort zone. Not being able to focus and be productive on that front irritates him.  

There’s no denying by this point that it’s the sudden and unexplained absence of Newt running their flower shop that’s causing such a funk, and that makes it even more frustrating. He is behaving like he’s suffered the loss of a good friend, or going through a breakup, when the reality is neither of these. Hermann knows the florist’s name, they have said hello to him a handful of times, and that’s it. He feels like such a fool, and the more this goes on the more confused and baffled he is by himself.

Hermann glances to the side and stares out of his living room window. It’s raining today, and his leg has been aching him ever since he woke up. He’s stiff and sluggish, and he grips his tea mug even tighter in effort to bask in the comforting warmth it provides. He has to stop this. Perhaps Tendo has been right all this time. Perhaps what he needs is to go on a date. The thought of it is paralyzing; Hermann has never just  _ casually dated _ , and he is constantly dismissing the urging of his friends and siblings to do just that.  

Hermann is halfway through his tea, which is quickly growing cold, when he swallows his pride and grabs his phone to text Tendo.

_ So about this whole setting me up on a date thing. Is that still something you’re wanting to do?  -H _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks and shout out to Actually_Crowley for their awesome beta work. <3


	3. Chapter 3

When Hermann hears a knock at his door two hours later, he rolls his eyes and doesn’t even bother feigning surprise when he opens it to greet Tendo. What he does is arch an eyebrow as he steps back to let him in (“Don’t you, oh I don’t know, have a family to be spending your weekends with?” “Are you kidding me? Alison practically shoved me out the door herself, brother. Let’s do this thing.”) and accept his fate under the guidance of Matchmaker Tendo. It’s embarrassing even discussing it with the man, friend or not, and even more embarrassing when Tendo takes it upon himself to do a grand tour of his closet and pick it apart.

“So here’s the deal,” Tendo is saying, his voice muffled from where his head is legitimately inside Hermann’s closet and trapped between cardigans. “You don’t have a horrible sense of style, not at all, but your problem is that you’ve been too accepting of stuff like kinda fits you but not really. I can’t quite figure out how you have so many obvious hand me downs even though you haven’t lived at home in ages. Is your older brother, like, a monster? The stuff you usually wear is so baggy. Also, we need to get you into this decade, man. You’re not a grandpa just yet.”

Hermann rolls his eyes from across the room, where he’s sitting on his bed.

“I don’t see what my closet has to do with finding a date,” he snaps, regretting his decision to text Tendo more and more by the second. The man in question finally emerges and glances back at him.

“It has  _ everything _ to do with it, Hermann,” he says, pulling out a dark blue sweater and wiggling it. “Like this? This is great! It’s classic, it’s very you, and I won’t know until you wear it, but it seems much more form fitting then a lot of this other stuff is. I bet it’s quite flattering on you.”

The sweater is one that Karla bought him last year, and Hermann can’t deny that it’s one of the nicer things that he owns. He likes it a lot, but it’s not one he wears a lot because of what it means to him. He’s been told that’s completely goes against the point of it being gifted to him in the first place, but still. He presses his lips together in a thin line.

“What are you suggesting then?” he asks in the most deadpan voice he can manage. He’s already dreading the answer.

“We are going shopping, that’s what. Come on, let’s go.”

“Right now?” Hermann asks incredulously.

“Yep. Right now. Get your shoes and coat on!” Tendo commands, putting the sweater up and darting out of the room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Saturday afternoon is spent acquiring new clothes. Hermann’s exhausted and achy, but Tendo’s enthusiasm keeps him from completely despising the experience. Then, somehow, he already has a date on Sunday afternoon.

Hermann stares at the message from Tendo Sunday morning with wide eyes. Sure, Tendo has mentioned something like this more than once, but the man is so ready for the possibility that it’s a bit concerning. Yes, he wants to try and do something, but Hermann never would have expected to have something set up so fast.

The date is an early dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. His date - Jason - is rather attractive, and they are set up with a table on the outer patio that overlooks a small pond the restaurant owns. As attractive as the man is, though, that’s where the pleasant observations end. The date is abysmal. It starts out promising, as Jason seems rather intrigued in the work he does, but the man quickly turns out to be a strange conspiracy theorist regarding robotics and AI improvements, the Veterans Association, and ways the government works through agencies like that.

“Your company could be next,” Jason says, clearly thinking he’s doing Hermann a service by warning him.

Then he starts talking about his new fantasy football team, and halfway through dinner they fall into an uncomfortable silence. Hermann pays way more attention to his risotto dish than is necessary, and he wants the floor to swallow him whole when their waiter brings him  _ another _ glass of wine, as if clearly sensing his discomfort.

Jason attempts to kiss him on the cheek after dinner, and Hermann does not feel guilty for flat out not allowing him to. He still thanks Jason for the evening, and then gets the fuck out of there before it can get any worse.

Hermann is grateful that he hadn’t had the chance to mention going on a date to Karla, since that saves him the embarrassment of having to explain its utter failure to her. He does make sure to let Tendo know all about it the next morning, though. He has to take an Uber to work in the morning, and spends the next few hours receiving apology after apology from his matchmaking friend.  

“Seriously man, I had no idea he was so weird and paranoid,” Tendo says for the fifth time during lunch. “I’d met him through a mutual friend, I’ll be sure we’re much better prepared for the next one.”

“The next one?” Hermann repeats, eyeing Tendo suspiciously. “Oh no. No thank you. I think that will hold me over for a while.”

“Come on Hermann, a single failure can’t dictate the following attempts, right?”

“Don’t you dare quote one of my old lectures,” Hermann warns. Tendo just grins.

“I will do better, I  _ promise _ . There’s plenty other fish in the sea, and I’m awesome at this. Don’t let last night’s interaction fool you. Even an expert has his poorer moments.”

Then off he goes, whistling and plotting who knows what. Hermann sighs and shakes his head, frowning at Tendo’s back briefly before turning his attention back to his lunch. He is not even remotely eager at the prospect of another date with someone, but it was true. If any great scientist had stopped after a single failure, nothing would get done. Hermann just needed to consider this in the same manner, as odd as it was.

He decides to walk home that afternoon, his leg feeling marginally better than it had that morning. Plus, the leisurely pace always does Hermann good and helps him decompress from the day. It’s an action he’s grateful for taking, as he walks by the flower shop and sees the door open, the neon sign above the door lit up, and movement inside. He considers slowing and observing for a moment, but decides against it. Even still, Hermann has a smile on his face as he gets home.

He’s pretty sure he had caught the sight of messy dark hair and colorful arms inside of the shop, but does not allow himself to overthink it. The relief he feels the remainder of the evening is palpable, though.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Sasha’s birthday is next week,” Mako mentions casually over drinks one evening. Hermann blinks at her. Sasha is one of their testing engineers, a quiet and tall woman that he’s barely ever spoken more than ten words to but respects her immensely. He realizes he’d had no idea when her birthday was. Not that it’s a shocking revelation, as he doesn’t make it a point to know all the specifics of all his coworkers, but still.

“Oh right!” Tendo exclaims, snapping a finger. “Weren’t we gonna do something for that?”

“Yes,” Mako nods, folding her hands in her lap. “A party! It’ll be fun. We need to start spreading the word, quietly if we can. We can have food, presents, a whole thing.”

“Presents,” Hermann repeats.

“Duh, it’s a birthday party, right?” Tendo laughs. “Of course we gotta have presents.”

“I hardly know enough about Mrs Kaidonovsky to get her an appropriate present,” he sighs. Sasha is a very private person, much like himself. Apart from the shared interest of their profession, he has nothing to go off of. He’s hardly ever a good present-giver when he  _ does _ know the person better.

“Just get her a plant or something! That’s always a safe bet. Plants are nice,” Tendo suggests with a shrug.

“There is a flower shop near the office,” Mako points out in agreement. “That would be both convenient and thoughtful. Flowers can hold so much meaning, even if the person doesn’t have a green thumb.”

Hermann can feel himself blushing furiously at the mention of the flower shop. Yes, he’s well aware of the shop in question … He stares at the head of foam decorating the top of his beer as Mako and Tendo continue to talk, only half paying attention to him. This was it, this was the reason he needed to finally introduce himself to this florist he’s had a crush on.  

“Hermann?”

“Doctor Gottlieb?”

Hermann blinks and looks up, noticing his friends staring at him expectantly. He opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again. He clears his throat and glances down for a moment longer.

“Apologies,” he says finally, and gives them both a slight smile. “The flower shop is a good suggestion, thank you.  I suppose I’ll go there.”

“Great! I need to figure out what day will work best, and we can set up in the conference room and have a big lunch,” Mako smiles, tucking her blue-streaked hair behind one ear. “I can find something we can get catered in, perhaps, and we can get a cake and everything. It’ll be fun!”

Tendo eyes Hermann curiously, and Hermann pretends not to notice. It’s only for a moment before Tendo rejoins the conversation, happy to hash out plans for the office party and throw ideas back and forth. Hermann observes the conversation quietly, nursing his drink and chiming in every now and again when some of the ideas got a little too outlandish. Hermann might not know Sasha very well, but they have a few similarities in their overall demeanor that lets him feel safe enough to reject some of the more involved activities that are suggested. If this party is meant to mostly be a surprise to Sasha, Hermann felt it best to keep the event calmer and more informal.

As they all stand and pay their tabs, Tendo accompanies Hermann down the sidewalk after they say bye to Mako. Hermann arches an eyebrow at the company but says nothing.

“So what’s up,” Tendo asks after a moment of silence.

“I am going home for the evening, that’s what’s up,” Hermann responds.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, Tendo,” Hermann sighs. That makes Tendo laugh.

“Yeah yeah, fair enough,” he agrees, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “What’s up with the flower shop suggestion? You got quieter than normal when it was brought up and seemed very distracted.”

Hermann was worried that’s what his questioning was going to be about. Tendo is a perceptive human being, something that can be infuriating when one wants to keep their business to themselves. Hermann knows it always comes from a good place, though. He’s a ridiculously caring and loyal friend.

“I am usually quiet when we go out for drinks, I don’t see why tonight has been any different,” Hermann says, attempting to deflect. It doesn’t work.

“Yeah, uh huh, sure buddy, keep tellin’ yourself that,” Tendo snorts. He nudges Hermann with an elbow, drawing an irritated scoff from him. “I saw the way you blushed. And don’t go blaming your drink, you were a third of a way through your only beer. Come on, brother. Deets.”

“I don’t see why you need  _ deets _ , as you insist on calling them, when there are none to be had,” Hermann snaps. “It is a simple flower shop that I pass on my route to and from the office, alongside many other shops I might add, and that’s it.”

“Yeah but you’re being super defensive,” Tendo points out. Hermann wants this conversation to end please and thank you. “Have you been in it before?”

“No, I have never had a reason to go inside.”

“Do you know the owner or something?”

“No, I don’t know N-” Hermann starts, before quickly catching himself and shutting up. “I don’t know the owner. I don’t know anything about the place. It’s just a shop.”

“You were totally about to say his name though,” Tendo says after a moment of silence that Hermann was loathe to see end.

“Whose name?” Hermann grumbled. Apparently he wasn’t fast enough.

“The owner’s.”

“Oh so  _ you _ know the owner?”

“Yeah I do, Newt’s a badass dude,” Tendo laughs.  _ Of course  _ he knows Newt. Tendo knows everyone. Hermann isn’t surprised. He’s wondered on more than one occasion if he did know Newt, after all. He’s just never had the courage to find out. “I love the guy. He’s not someone I’d expect to see running a flower shop, but I kinda feels like that works to his advantage. He gets good business, and he’s great at it.”

“He does seem very interesting,” Hermann admits with a blush.

“ _ Please _ tell me you have a crush on him,” Tendo blurts out. Hermann freezes and whips his head around, staring at the man with wide eyes. Tendo laughs. “Oh my god you do.”

“I do not!” Hermann huffs. That just makes Tendo laugh more, a gleeful and excited sound.

“Holy shit you absolutely do. You’re blushing again Hermann. The only other time I’ve seen you this flustered is the first time you were trying to juggle multiple interns that just showed up unscheduled. And you’ve seriously gone in there or talked to him or anything?”

“No, I-” Hermann starts, shoulders raising slightly. He takes a slow breath and tries to calm down, sighing and beginning to walk again. Tendo falls in step next to him instantly. “As I said, I’ve had no reason to. No, I’ve never talked to him. He is a shop owner, and sure he says hi to me sometimes, but it doesn’t matter what crush I may or may not have because I don’t know him.”

“But you will.” Tendo’s tone is weirdly ominous, and Hermann gives him an annoyed and wary look. “Mako’s suggestion could not have been more perfect.”

Hermann rolls his eyes. Tendo reaches over and clasps a hand down on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Honestly, Hermann can’t understand why he’s so damn excited.

“If I’d known about this crush ages ago this would’ve been the first date I’d have set you up on!” he laments after a moment of silence. Hermann sighs heavily.

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t know about it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It takes Hermann days to compose himself enough to approach the flower shop. The day after the party planning officially begins, he wants to go and get it over with. Rip the bandaid off, as they say. He doesn’t, though, he  _ can’t _ . As he gets off work, Hermann is hit with a heavy anxiety that prevents him from crossing the street and entering the shop. He knows he’s overthinking it, psyching himself out for a ridiculously simple interaction, so he realizes in hindsight that it’s probably better he didn’t take the plunge that first day.

However, even as he starts deciding that this is the day he will leave work early, or fit a trip over during his lunch break, he freezes and talks himself out of it. The visit to the shop is going to be simple, he has a specific purpose, and there’s no reason to think so hard about it. Even still, his mind wanders and he finds himself being convinced that he just can’t go there yet.

It should be a casual affair. Hermann hums, staring into a cup of tea with a frown, and tapping the warm surface lightly. How does one be casual? Conversation comes so easily to people around him, but it’s something Hermann has always found himself floundering over. Does he enter the shop and describe Sasha to Newt in attempt to get the appropriate recommendation? Does he ask Newt about the shop, or is that too invasive? He knows nothing about Newt, but this is the opportunity to change that.

“Hello Newt, I’m Hermann, and I find you fascinating and attractive. Could I treat you to coffee sometime?” he mutters into his mug, rolling his eyes. Setting it down on his counter with a hard thump, Hermann rubs the back of his head and scoffs. Of course he can’t say something like that. That’s … not who he is.

Time is ticking down, however, and the longer he delays himself, the more ridiculous Hermann feels. Whether it’s that, or the way Tendo keeps eyeing him suggestively and excitedly, he finally draws the line and excuses himself from work an hour early on Friday so he can go to the flower shop. 

“Yes Herms,” Tendo whispers, raising his hand to give Hermann a high five as he shuts his computer down. Hermann arches an eyebrow.

“Are you honestly trying to get me to high five you because I’m going to buy my gift for this party?” he asks in a flat voice.

“Psssshh, you and I both know it’s more than that, my man,” Tendo beams, wiggling his fingers. “Come on. Bring it in.”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Choi.”

“Awww, come on Hermann, don’t go all last name on me,” Tendo sighs.

“Then stop being ridiculous,” Hermann says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

“Text me!” Tendo calls after him as he steps outside.

“I won’t!” Hermann calls back.

Hermann rolls his eyes at the groan he hears behind him, and pointedly ignores his phone as the text comes a moment later that he knows is also from Tendo. He walks down the sidewalk with purpose, lifting his chin and ignoring the nerves that start to flutter in his chest. He’s been postponing this for silly reasons, and it truly is nothing more than buying a gift for a work colleague. 

His nerves only increase as he crosses the street and approaches the flower shop. Hermann forces himself to ignore them, though, squares his shoulders, and steps inside. The door chimes above him, a charming little sound that makes his mouth twitch up in a small smile, and he glances around the small space. He sniffs delicately at the array of smells that hits his nose. 

“Welcome to the Little Shop of Flowers,” a bright voice calls out, and Hermann glances in its direction in time to see Newt’s head pops out from behind what he assumes is a back room. His glasses are crooked, his hair is a mess, and he’s grinning. “I’ll be right-  Whoa! It’s you! Hang on, I’ll be right with ya.”

Hermann blinks rapidly, watching as Newt disappears back behind the door frame just as quickly as he’d appeared. What … does that mean?  _ It’s you _ . He swallows and taps his fingers rapidly against the handle of his cane, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath before heading up to the front counter. He leans his good hip against the side, glancing at the register with the little bell sitting next to it. 

As he’s glancing at the array of roses behind the counter, Hermann hears a thump, a crash, and a string of curses. He straightens quickly, eyes wide, and waits for a moment as silence follows. Okay … As Hermann opens his mouth to say something, Newt appears again, walking out from the back area. His apron - beige in color, with the phrase “Still Plays In The Dirt” across the chest above a cartoon photo of a dirt mound with a shovel sticking out of it - looks to be damp and covered in, well, dirt. There’s a streak of dirt across his cheek, and he’s wiping his hands off on the front of the apron. Hermann arches an eyebrow instinctively, completely forgetting his nerves.

“Is everything alright?” he asks as Newt finally comes to stand across from him with his hands on his hips.

“What?” Newt asks, blinking. Then, a look of realization dawns on his face and he laughs. It’s a lovely sound, and Hermann can swear his heart skips a beat. “Oh, that? Dude, that’s a normal Tuesday in here, don’t even worry about it.”

“It’s Friday,” Hermann points out.

“Sure is!”

“... Alright then.”

“So, Mr. I walk to work fairly often but never say hi, how can I help you today?”

“Ah, well,” Hermann stutters, feeling so caught off guard he almost forgets why he is actually here. He clears his throat, pushing off the counter and leaning more on his cane. “I need to purchase a plant.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Newt sets his hands flat on the counter and leans forward slightly. “What’s your poison?”

_ Don’t freeze _ , Hermann thinks to himself.  _ Just tell him why you’re here. You’re a patron and he’s a shop owner.  _

“Well, I’m honestly not sure,” he admits, licking his bottom lip and letting his gaze wander to the assortment of flowers around them. “It’s not for me, and I’m really not familiar with … well, any of this. However, I have to get something for a coworker’s birthday, so. Here I am.”

Newt doesn’t break eye contact as Hermann speaks, which is something that he usually finds unnerving. He’s not bothered by it right now though, which is surprising. Everything about Newt is colorful. It’s not just the tattoos covering his arms (tattoos that Hermann desperately wants to examine but knows he can’t without being strange or obvious about it), and it’s not just the dark collared shirt with a bright floral pattern decorating it, but even his  _ eyes _ are. Hermann can’t pinpoint what color they are. It’s amazing.

“Coworker birthday, got it,” Newt nods, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “Mandatory work party huh?”

“How did you guess?” Hermann blinks. Newt shrugs.

“Just felt right,” he smiles. “So, this coworker. What can you tell me about them?”

The question gives Hermann pause. He doesn’t … know a whole lot about Sasha, admittedly. He hums, frowning and shifting his weight slightly. Perhaps he doesn’t need to, though. It’s just a flower, after all. Surely there’s not THAT much to it.

“Well, she keeps to herself, but she’s very intelligent and dedicated,” he says after a moment. Furrowing his brow, he looks at Newt in confusion. “Why does any of this matter?”

“Fair question,” Newt asks. “Flowers are as simple as they are complicated, dude. If this coworker is quiet and subdued, you don’t wanna give her daisies, you know? No, you don’t know, that’s why you’re here. Okay. So, it sounds ridiculous that flowers have meaning and language and all that jazz, but  _ trust me _ , they do. So anything you know about her can help inform my recommendation for a bomb ass gift.”

“A what?” Hermann asks, eyes wide at Newt’s phrasing. He was speaking so fast and energetically, and he was even gesturing. Newt has a much bigger presence than Hermann was ever expecting. “Ah, nevermind. Alright. She’s from Russia, and she’s not one to talk much, but she’s very talented. She’s no nonsense, which I appreciate.”

“Alright, so we’ve got a silent, no nonsense Russian woman with great work ethic,” Newt repeats, pushing up his glasses and chuckling. “Awesome. I can work with that.”

“You can?”

“Absolutely,” he beams. “So, you’ve got two pretty good options, depending on how much you wanna spend. Here, let me…”

Newt clears his throat and nudges his glasses again, before spinning around and looking back and forth. He hums, muttering to himself, and then darts off to the back room. Hermann remains where he’s standing, swallowing and glancing down at the countertop. 

This was going better than he’d expected.

“Okay, so,” Newt announces loudly, coming back out holding two pots. He sets them down on the counter and slides one forward. “This one is a succulent; it’s a pretty standard type that’s easy to take care of and not too obnoxious looking. They’re good for people who aren’t as into flowers or doesn’t keep them very often.”

Hermann tilts his head and glances down at the one in question. These are one of the few plants he’s actually familiar with. The succulent has the same shape as a blooming rose, only its “petals” are thicker, much more varied in size as they spiral inward, and a pale green color. The edges of them have a thin reddish purple line going across them. He hums, before his gaze is drawn towards the other pot Newt had brought out. He taps the counter in front of it.

“What’s this one?” he asks, glancing up at Newt with his brow furrowed. 

He’s never seen a flower like this before. The shape of it looks familiar, a single large cup-shaped bulb sitting atop the stem, but he’s never seen that sort of dark black color on a real plant. Newt’s grin widens, something Hermann wasn’t sure was possible, and he almost seems to puff his chest up in … pride?

“Well, you see. One of the things I always try to achieve here in my shop is cultivating and introducing people to more unique species of plants,” he explains, shifting the pot forward a little closer for Hermann to inspect. “So long as they, you know, aren’t gonna mess with our ecosystem of course. This baby right here is what’s called a Black Tulip. Super rare, almost an impossible hybrid to come across. Technically this one isn’t pure black, if you look at it in the right light you’ll see the shine of the petals giving off a dark red, almost a wine color. Pure black tulips are still something I’m trying to play around with or find somewhere. But this hybrid beauty right here is a special one. A bit more expensive, but dude, so worth it.”

“A black tulip,” Hermann says, leaning forward and balancing his weight on his cane so he can further inspect it.  Sure enough, the more ways he glances at it, he can see the red tint come through that Newt had mentioned. “And this is a suitable gift for someone who doesn’t know as much as you?”

“Oh totally,” Newt confirms, crossing his arms over his chest. “Flower symbolism and all that, this one symbolizes strength. Power. It’s rarity and elegance lends itself to a bit of royalty, if you wanna get real fancy with it. This coworker of yours sounds kinda like that sort of person. The, uh. The strength part, at least. It’s definitely more respectful and impressive than your run of the mill tulip. They require about the same amount of care as a succulent too, though I’d recommend watering it around twice a week instead of once.”

It’s an interesting decision to make, and Hermann finds himself torn. He glances between the two, trying to focus on the flowers and the information that has been provided to him at such a fast pace (and pointedly NOT letting his eyes wander to the man standing on the other side of the counter, who is so handsome and can’t seem to keep still, which makes him even more distracting than his looks already do on their own). Succulents were an simple solution, while the tulip … That was much more unique. Hermann has always enjoyed the chance to dabble in the more unique. Finally, he straightens and glances over at Newt with a soft sigh.

“Which would you chose, if you were in my position?” he asks, genuinely curious for the opinion and the small insight into Newt’s thought process. “Not as a florist yourself, but just as a patron.”

“Me?” Newt asks. He glances down at the options for a moment himself and licks his lips, before tugging his bottom lip with his teeth. Hermann has to fight to keep himself from getting distracted by the small gesture. With a soft laugh, Newt looks at him and shrugs. “Well, I’d get both. But I’m kinda one of those Go Big or Go Home guys. My dad’s always told me I’m an overachiever. So maybe don’t let my own decision influence yours, dude.”

Well that was no help. Except, Hermann doesn’t find himself irritated over it. Even if it brings him no closer to his own decision, he appreciates Newt’s candor. He takes notice that Newt isn’t trying to sway him one way or the other to make a sale, which he appreciates even more. He has a very odd way of speaking, very informal and almost too personal for being a shop owner and having to speak with strangers, which catches him off guard. Perhaps there are some out there that appreciate that kind of communication from employees, though he is definitely not one of them. This is usually when his anxiety or his lack of patience flares up and causes him to retreat from the conversation as quickly and politely as he can, and yet, he doesn’t feel the urge to do that just yet.

That’s certainly something to try and process later.

“Well then,” Hermann says after a moment, straightening back to his full height and resting both hands on the handle of his cane. “Let’s go with the tulip.”

“Heck yeah, good choice!” Newt grins, picking up the succulent and setting it to the side. “Here, lemme grab some plant food packets to throw in, and we’ll get this bad boy out on the road with ya!”

Newt spins and darts off across the shop, humming a melody that Hermann doesn’t recognize. He leans a bit, watching Newt get a small bag and put a big handful of packets inside of it. Once he gets back over, Newt works on ringing everything up. Hermann hands over his credit card, grateful to have this aspect of the upcoming party finally out of the way.

“So that’ll last your coworker a month,” Newt says as he types on his tablet and swipes the card. “And yeah, like I said, twice a week is really all it needs. Any more than that and she could drown it, so just let her know to keep an eye on the soil and make sure it doesn’t look too damp before watering it again.”

“I will pass that information along, thank you,” Hermann nods, managing a soft smile as he takes his card back.

“Of course!” Newt exclaims happily. “Glad you stopped by finally, um …”

It takes Hermann a moment to realize that Newt is prompting a response from him. He blinks, glancing at the warm, curious expression on the florist’s face. What is he waiting for? He holds a slightly dirty hand out, and Hermann notices his nails are painted black. Hermann can feel his cheeks getting a bit warm.  _ Oh _ .

“Ah, Hermann,” he introduces himself, realizing he’d not done that yet. He sticks his hand out as well, hesitating as their palms become parallel and twitches his fingers slightly. Clearing his throat, he twitches and his eyes widen as Newt closes the distance himself and grasps his hand to shake it briefly.

“Nice to meet you, Hermann,” Newt says gently. “I’m Newt.”

His hand is warm. Hermann can feel his heart pounding. He can’t keep himself from staring finally, and he notices some of the tattoos decorating Newt’s arm (this one, at least). Newt is wearing the black leather bracelets that Hermann has noticed before, but emerging from underneath it is a bright variety of yellow, pink, and purple flowers surrounding by vibrant swirling green vines and leaves. Hermann also catches sight of a butterfly and a lizard. His lips part in awe, and what feels like an eternity is only a few brief seconds, and all of a sudden the moment is over as quickly as it began.

Hermann is afraid to make eye contact again at first, worried that whatever whirlwind of emotions he’s feeling right now are going to be written all across his face. He does, though, and is just met with the warm smile Newt has been wearing during the majority of their exchange. Hermann tries to manage a nervous smile of his own.

“Newt, it is nice to meet you as well,” he returns, reaching out to pick up the bag of plant food in order to do something with his now empty hand. His skin is still tingling from the contact, and a layer of embarrassment is seeping into his mind. “Quite a unique name.”

“HA!” Newt snorts. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black right there, dude. But yeah yeah yeah, it’s short for Newton, but only my dad and uncle call me that, so.”

“Fair enough,” Hermann chuckles. His heart is pounding even harder, so much that he swears he can hear it in his ears. “Thank you for your assistance today, Newton.”

“Dude, come on, I  _ just _ said-”

“I am aware,” Hermann smirks. He tears his eyes away from Newt’s to look back at the bag in his hand, folding it up a bit more so he can slip it in his pocket and free up his hand for carrying the flower. Then, he’s reaching for it as well, making sure he has a secure grip before lifting it off the counter. The pot is small, so thankfully it’s not that heavy. He’s sure he’ll be able to manage.

“I’m glad you took interest in one of the more unique things I have to offer here,” Newt says, running a hand through his already messy hair and only succeeding in messing it up even more. “Stop by again sometime, I’ll see what else I can dig up.”

“So long as nothing you dig up, as you say, is a large venus fly trap that requires human blood to survive, that sounds wonderful,” Hermann says, arching an eyebrow. Newt gives him a gleeful, surprised look.

“You get the name of my shop!!”

“Of course I get the name Newton, who doesn’t know Little Shop of Horrors?”

“You’d be surprised, Hermann. There are some sad people with poor taste out there.”

Hermann takes his leave then, forcing down the urge to look back over his shoulder at Newt one more time before stepping outside. He smiles down at the black tulip, the red wine tints shining even more obviously in the sunlight. It really is a beautiful flower. It seemed appropriate that he saw such a lovely thing in a shop like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead I promise, haha! Thanks as always to Actually_Crowley for their beta work. <3


End file.
